


In/Out/In

by slothprincess



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8272952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothprincess/pseuds/slothprincess
Summary: Drift is trying to meditate. Ratchet is bothering him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> You always read about Drift bothering Ratchet, this is Ratchet bothering Drift.

It was lemony yellow and salty like a sea breeze. The word ‘diamond’ came to mind, as well as a subtle weave of tired irritability. Drift snuck open an optic. Ratchet, of course. He would recognize that aura anywhere. He slipped the optic close again and continued chanting, content to ignore the ambulance’s presence now that he was no longer identified as “potential threat”.

Earlier that orn he had been forced to devote several cycles to convincing Rodimus, once again, that comm codenames were unnecessary. And several more convincing Magnus that, no, the Captain’s chair did not look 14º more to the right than usual. He needed meditation time badly. Ratchet would get the hint. Eventually.

He slipped back into his trance. Nothing mattered, nothing but the delicate whiff of incense and the rhythm of his breathing. In. Out. In.

“Hmph.”

Drift’s shoulders sagged slightly. Maybe if he ignored him just a bit longer, he’d go away. Inner clarity was tantalizingly close. He began running through the Pillars of Primus in his mind. Compassion. Commonality.

“Hmph.”

Peace. Tranquility. Equanimity. 

“aHEM.”

Drift opened an optic with resignation, “Can I help you with something, Ratchet?” he asked, shifting his position.

“Just got off shift, thought I’d see what you’re up to.” The older bot leant against the doorframe, picking invisible dirt particles out of his seams with a spare scalpel.

Drift bit back a scowl,“You saw. I’m meditating. Alone.” 

As soon as it left his lips guilt pinged through his systems. That was no way to talk to a dear friend, then he remembered Ratchet distinctly hurling a wrench at him and felt decidedly less so.

“By myself,” he added as an afterthought. When Ratchet made no move to leave, he turned up his stereo, signifying the end of their conversation and settling back into a meditative stance. He returned to his breathing exercises. In. Out. In. Out.

The dulcet tones of Grand Primal monks began to reverberate out of his music player and through his cabin. Drift released a content hum, they sounded like the angels of Primus himself.

At the doorway Ratchet scrunched up his face, “Drift, What is DYING?”  
Drift wanted to cradle his face in his servos, “It’s called Vosian throat singing, if you must know; the warbling is a key property of many meditational chants-” 

“Drift,” the ambulance interrupted with a grandiose gravity “as a seasoned health representative and CMO, it is my responsibility to inform you,” He paused, “that is not the sound of a healthy individual.”

Drift sniffed. “It’s quite popular among those of the faith.”

“It sounds like Starscream drowning in his own energon.”

Drift pinched his nose, “Why are you still here, Ratchet? I thought I made it clear I wanted to be alone.”

“You up for Swerve’s later when you’re not acting like a new spark in a wet blanket?”

“Fine,Yes. Is that all?” Drift’s growled, drumming his servos. Getting no immediate response, he snapped his optics shut and gathered all his excess Chi to his center with violent abandon. Drift exhaled as the room began to recede. In his mind’s eye he was upon a mountain, surrounded by nothing but an endless blue sky. 

In. Out. In. Out. His breathing became a steady rhythm as he felt his very being open up, aura attempting to extend throughout the room. Opening up and colliding with a familiar lemony yellow. 

Drift’s optics popped open in fury, followed by alarm. Ratchet sat directly before him, mirroring his pose. Feet folded underneath him, back bent forward, as he watched Drift through narrowed optics. 

Drift lurched back startled by the sudden proximity, spark pounding wildly. “Primus, Ratchet! A little warning next time?” He sputtered, shock swiftly descending back into irritability. 

“Oh-ho, was that Primus’ name in vain, Mister holier-than-thou?” Ratchet teased, smartly scooting back out of stabbing range.

Drift gave him a scathing look, pulling himself up off the floor with a grunt, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He could sense a lost cause when he found one. He extinguished the incense’s flame between his servos with a flick of his wrist and turned to his friend, “We gonna get those drinks or what?”


End file.
